


stay here, with me

by NIQtraust



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bird-watching, Canonical Character Death, Character Death In Dream, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, Marriage, Nightmares, Not Beta Read, Post-Canon, Temporary Character Death, Velen (The Witcher), alas, drowners ruining the moment, like no, this was our swamp first. how dare you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26997631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NIQtraust/pseuds/NIQtraust
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple night. Just a date with Yennefer, in the wilds of Velen, watching the stars and sitting together. Naturally, things didn't go quite as planned.All character death occurs within a dream, as does the torture. Nothing is graphic.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & The Hansa | Geralt's Company, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	stay here, with me

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for the ending of Lady of the Lake.  
> Minor spoilers for The Witcher 3.

"You're certain this is the spot?"

"Please, Geralt. Have a little faith." They walked over ground that was still damp from the light rain that had fallen a couple of hours earlier. The sorceress's skirt rustled over the grass. The green strands stayed in the impressions of two sets of footprints, held there by water and their own weight.

"It was a portal, Yen," the witcher continued. An amused scoff came from the woman. This was clearly an old game, the blades of grass observed.

"And when have I ever failed you with my portals?"

"Dropped me in the lake at Kaer Morhen."

"That was my intent, dear." The figures stopped walking. The man held a bottle in one hand. They had reached the edge of the hill. There was a rocky outcrop there, looking out over the marshes below. The marshes only went for a short way. For the two figures, it would be perhaps a twenty-minute walk to the shore of the water, lengthened only by having to pick their way around obstacles. This wet bit of rock overlooking it all had been their destination.

"Well," Yennefer commented. "I'll admit it's much more impressive at night." There was a soft rumble of agreement from the man she had married. He came up to stand beside her, their hands brushing and then entwining.

The soft night air was warm around them, providing just enough of a chill that it encouraged the sharing of body heat. The two figures pressed together, standing shoulder to shoulder as they watched the marshes below them. The crickets chirped and there was the occasional call of a nighttime bird.

The couple retreated a few steps back from the edge of the outcrop. Back on the grass, they let go of one another. The sorceress cast a spell to dry the grass in a circle under them, then another spell to conjure a blanket where it was dry. The witcher raised an eyebrow but did not protest.

They took their seats, the bottle of wine placed down between them. Wine glasses were conjured up as well with a twist of Yennefer's fingers. The bottle was poured. Geralt set his swords aside.

The two lovers sat close together now, sides pressed together. One of Geralt's arms went along Yennefer's back to her hip, encouraging her to lean against him. She did so, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. The wine glasses were set aside, now empty.

The sky had already been dark blue, awash with darker shades of purple. Now, as clouds began to form and move around the canvas of sky, the stars began to show their light. The outlines of the mountains were vague in the distance. Neither of the lovers paid them any attention.

Geralt turned his head enough to look down at Yen. She wasn't all that much shorter than him, but with her leaning against him, it was more pronounced than usual. She met his eyes with her violet ones, stars twinkling in them. Her head lifted from his shoulder, just enough that their lips could meet.

He could taste the wine still clinging to her tongue. He felt the soft chuckle she gave against him. His free arm came to rest on her neck, gently holding her. After a moment more, she pushed him back with a hand on his chest, her other still clinging onto him.

Geralt went down onto his back, allowing Yennefer to dictate the situation as she pleased. He simply kept his hands on her, not willing to part even for a moment. She straddled his hips, leaning over him and seeking his lips again. He moved his hands to her back, keeping her close and feeling the warmth of her skin.

The dress she wore was black, as all of her clothes were. The back was open in a V, which dipped down to a hands length above her tailbone. The opening was laced with soft black strings, going back and forth over two layers of crossings. 

She sat up. Hands found first the ties of Geralt's shirt, then the base of it. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his hands, which made it easier to work the shirt off. The new position also had the added benefit of now having Yen in his lap.

He kissed her, softly. She indulged him, arms wrapping around his waist.

Then his medallion began humming more vigorously, as if warning him of magic, or danger, or both. It had already been vibrating softly due to Yen using magic. Geralt's senses now kicked in as well, needing to catch up after becoming intoxicated not by the wine, but by his wife. 

He turned his head to the side, catching sight of the nearby drowners. His hands stilled where they were on Yen's shoulders, sliding her dress off after getting the back unlaced.

"Go," she whispered to him. The drowner turned to them and made a sound between a hiss and a scream. It was a sound of anger, the hunt, and triumph. 

Yennefer moved to the side as Geralt leapt to his feet, snatching his two swords from where they lay on the ground together. He tied the sheaths together for convenience, but he only needed the one. 

Dodging one blow only to realise there were multiple drowners, Geralt drew his silver sword. He tossed the sheaths, and the steel sword still within one of them, back onto the blanket. Then he dodged again, ducking under the drowner's claws and rolling to the side. The mud beneath him was mostly dry, but this was Velen. There was no escaping the damp, rot, and swamps.

Geralt sprang easily back to his feet, slicing out with his sword. He sheared through the thin body of the first drowner with ease. It toppled to the ground, cleaved in two.

Another came in from his left, a second too soon. Geralt pivoted, bringing his sword up, but Yennefer got there faster. A ball of white energy collided with the drowner. It was absorbed into it, knocking the monster back and onto the ground. It was dead the moment the magic touched it.

Geralt glanced over his shoulder, sword coming up into position. Yennefer was on her feet, ready to cast. Her dress was, thankfully, back in place, although not tied. It was bad enough that Geralt was already fighting shirtless, Yen didn't need to as well.

They took care of the remaining four drowners with remarkable efficiency. By the end of it, six blue, webbed, amphibious corpses lay on the ground, some of them fried but in one piece, others sliced apart. Geralt was splattered with the blood and gore of the various drowners he had killed. Yen was not.

She walked over to him with the last glow of her magic fading from her palms. Geralt lowered his sword. Yen looked him over and raised one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "I'll admit that I was expecting more to have gotten on you. We're not continuing where we left off until you've bathed, though, so don't even think about it." Geralt just reached for the back of her neck with the hand that didn't hold his sword. She allowed him to kiss her, then gently but firmly pushed him away.

There were sticky red stains clinging to her hair when she pulled away, shaking her head despite the amusement he saw in her eyes, along with the fondness that she carried for him.

"Trying to get me to join you in that bath?" She teased.

"Hmh. Maybe." Yen gave a small chuckle.

"Maybe the second one, once you get the gore off." They trekked back to the blanket as the clouds reached them. A fine, cold rain began to fall. 

A wave of her hand and the conjured glasses and blanket disappeared. Geralt watched as he wiped down his blade. She began doing up the laces of her dress as well. Usually, she would have asked him to do it instead. He supposed that drowner guts tended to bring about the opposite effect.

Geralt finished cleaning the one sword and tied both of his blades onto his back. He folded his shirt in the air, not aiming for neatness. "Portal?" He asked, resigned to his fate. It was how they had arrived, after all. He had not ridden Roach, much as he would have preferred to.

Yennefer nodded as confirmation and cast her spell, opening up the swirling vortex of black and orange. Geralt stepped through, the sorceress following after with the remainder of the bottle of wine.

♡

Upon exiting the portal, Geralt found himself in front of the cabin he lived in with Yennefer. It was not a permanent residence yet, but in the following years since Ciri's return to their world, the two of them had not yet found somewhere better. 

The cabin itself was cosy enough, Geralt supposed. Especially when one factored in that it wasn't really a cabin.

The building was two stories high, the second one hosting a balcony over where the front porch was. Three steps led up to the porch. The railings and the lattice in the windows were all decorated by twisting vines, some of which hosted flowers. The cabin was wooden and unpainted, the smooth logs used to contradict it carrying their own beauty. The accents had white paint over them, though.

The rain was still falling, even here. The couple trudged up the steps and through the front door, into their home. It was shaped like an L, through both sides were even. 

Imagine you are looking at a square from above. Now divide that square into four equal, smaller squares. The one in the bottom right is the porch. The bottom left, a fireplace with some armchairs and a woven rug. The top left square houses the kitchen. Between the top two squares is a staircase to the second floor. And finally, the top right square is a washroom, large enough for a tub that can hold three.

The second floor is cut into the same four squares. The bottom right one is the balcony. The two squares on the left are the bedroom. The top half of the top left square is left open. The top right square is a laboratory, where Yennefer keeps her megascope and notes.

Yen's hand pressed lightly against his lower back, as if making sure Geralt couldn't head straight upstairs to their bedroom and collapse. He turned into the washroom instead. Thanks to both magic and advanced plumbing, they only had to heat the water, not draw it. A flick of Geralt's fingers to cast a Sign and that was done.

He set his shirt aside and unbuckled his swords. They came off easily, the weight transferring from his back and shoulders to his hands. Geralt set the blades down and leaned then against the wall. He was leery about taking them off, even in his sleep, but he felt safe enough in the cabin. Yen still had her magic. He had Signs, and his swords would only ever be a couple of steps away. 

Once undressed, Geralt rinsed off the drowner guts into an additional wooden tub. This one was smaller by far. It wasn't meant for reclining. The water he used was cold, but he paid that little mind. Geralt untied his hair and ran a hand through it as well, rinsing out the blood.

When he turned back to the main tub, he saw that his wife had already undressed. She was submerged up to just below her collarbone and was slowly rinsing off an arm.

"Well?" Yen spoke without turning her head. Geralt saw her violet eyes move to him anyways. He made a small sound of agreement and amusement before he padded over. He slid into water that was nearly scalding in order to sit next to her. Good. This was his preferred temperature, and from the looks of it, Yen didn't mind it either.

"Wash my back," she said simply. The words were phrased as an order, but Geralt had long since learned to read between the lines of her speech. He took her preferred bar of soap in hand as she pulled her wet hair over one shoulder.

Geralt dropped a kiss between the tops of her shoulder blades, earning him a fond expression over Yen's shoulder. He worked the soap to a lather between his hands, then set the bar aside. Geralt began working with the ease that comes with countless repetitions. He rubbed Yen's shoulders, working the soap into them and then lingering a little longer than was needed.

Geralt paused to gather additional lather on his hands before he started working his way down Yen's back. As he went lower, she rose to standing. He followed, standing further away than he would have liked so he could keep working. When he reached her tailbone, Geralt stopped. He slid his hands over her hips, then his arms around her. He brushed his lips against the nape of her neck before resting his chin on her shoulder. Yen's hands came down to rest on his wrists.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," Geralt echoed back. He closed his eyes, the warmth of the water and her skin, along with the fight with the drowners, making him drowsy.

"Geralt," Yen said after a minute. He grunted to show he was listening, not yet opening his eyes. He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of her alongside the steam. His chest pressed against her back, the contact warming them both. "Geralt, you're bleeding." 

That got him to open his eyes and looked down. One arm had been more tender than the other and now that he saw the series of gouges from a drowner's claws, he understood why. Geralt closed his eyes again and dropped his chin back onto Yen's shoulder. "So I am," he replied sleepily. She nudged him with an elbow.

"Geralt?"

"Mm?"

"Let's finish washing, then I'll have a look at your arm."

Geralt opened his arms and allowed her out of his grasp. She picked up her preferred soap and worked it into a lather on her own hands. He felt those hands on his back after a minute, warm and soft, but strong and capable, against him. Yen soaped up both his back and the cuts on his arm, then urged him to sink back into the water. They both rinsed the soap off of their bodies, then worked fresh soap into each other's hair.

Once the water had cooled and the grime had left them, Yennefer rose smoothly to her feet. "Turn around," she murmured as she climbed out of the tub to fetch a towel. She didn't need magic to know that her husband was rolling his eyes. She had long since lost count of how many times they had seen each other naked, and yet she still insisted on this courtesy, still insisted to play this game with him. And Geralt obliged. She knew the request amused him as well.

Geralt climbed out of the tub next, pulling the plug from the bottom of it before he did so. The water began to slowly drain, taking the soap and grit with it. Yen was partially dressed now, wearing only underclothes and a long black robe over them. Her wet hair tumbled down his back, and for a long moment, Geralt simply stood there, captivated by her beauty, her posture, her confidence, the hint of a mysterious smile on her lips, everything that made Yen, Yen.

Then he blinked and the spell broke. Geralt dried off too and dressed quickly, pulling on loose sleep pants and no shirt. Then he held out a hand to Yen. "Come with me?" She rose and took it, playful but sincere trust written in her expression.

Geralt led Yen out the front door, back onto the porch. The balcony above them blocked them from the rain, while the house itself protected two of their sides. The other two were open to the elements. The light, cold rain that had started up an hour or two earlier was still going. When Geralt stopped to listen, he could hear the pitter-patter of the droplets against the windows.

Yen shivered slightly, the thin robe not adequate protection against the wind. Geralt felt a twinge of guilt. He wrapped one arm around her waist, tugging her closer. The other went to her jaw. He gently rested their foreheads together, cradling her head in one hand.

The lamp outside their front door was lit, moths fluttering around it. Other bugs hummed and buzzed quietly in the background.

"Thank you, Yen." For everything, Geralt meant. For sticking by his side through thick and thin. For deciding to remove the bond the djinn had forged between them in order to let something real blossom in its place. For being there for Ciri. For being there for him while remaining true to herself.

He knew she knew what he meant.

"You're everything I could have wanted and more," Geralt found himself whispering as he stroked her cheek, feeling the fine, soft hairs beneath his fingers. The scent of her surrounded him like a warm shawl. Lilac and gooseberries filled his senses alongside a scent that was profusely Yennefer, a subtle warmth clinging to her skin.

"Hmm," was the soft sound in return. She sounded content. "I love you, Geralt."

"And I love you, Yen." She allowed him to kiss her, responding gently. And they stood there for some time, basking in one another's presence and exchanging gentle caresses.

At last, it was Yennefer who broke the silence between them, the silence that only the bugs had been breaking. "As lovely as this is, I for one would prefer to continue this inside. I've had enough of cold and rain and being eaten alive by insects." Geralt hummed in agreement and pressed one last kiss against her lips. He let his hands slide down her sides and then off of her body. One of Yen's found his and entwined their fingers together.

It was dark out, but between Geralt's vision and knowing their cabin well, the couple made it up to their bedroom without tripping, banging their shins against a table, or letting go of each other's hands.

Once in the room, the door got shut behind them. It hardly took a look exchanged between the two for them to start removing their clothing, which was now damp on account of standing outside in the wind and rain.

They fell onto the bed, limbs entangled and bodies soon following. Perhaps Geralt led their dance, perhaps Yennefer did. It did not much matter between the two of them.

♡

Yennefer awoke slowly and to the sight of damp stone walls. The floor underneath her feet was cobbled and made of darker stones. She was sitting in a chair, bound to it by ropes. Around her wrists, she could feel the cool, prickly sensation of dimeritium shackles. Around each of her ankles was a similar cuff, and on her neck was a collar. 

She would have screamed if she could, and if her pride would have allowed it. But this place oozed contempt and power, and Yennefer sensed some powerful force waiting just beyond her reach. The force was familiar, as if that of an old enemy.

She cursed quietly. She recognised this place. It was hazy with time and false memories, but he would recognise Stygga Castle anywhere.

Geralt staggered backwards, watching the scene before him. Yen was bound, not him, but he could also feel ropes around him, holding him to the chair. He could feel his magic seeping away and being blocked by the dimeritium holding his wife.

"Yen," he said. She did not respond, watching instead the wall in front of her. Geralt looked towards it and found that was the wall that hosted the door. "Yen," he repeated more urgently. He reached out for her shoulder.

Geralt's hand swiped through her flesh as if she was made of smoke. He stumbled back, watching as her head finally lifted, violet eyes burning bright with resistance and hatred. He turned around as one of the doors swung open, hinges creaking softly.

A familiar face stood there, another standing beside them. The first stepped into the light. Once, Geralt had known him to be handsome and charismatic, young, arrogant, and powerful. Vilgefortz, with one side of his face horribly scarred. That eye was smaller than the other in the undamaged side of his face.

Beside him stood a young woman with ashen hair and a scar on her face, a woman Geralt saw as a daughter.

"Ah," Vilgefortz laughed, which sounded as if sandpaper was scraping mucus and blood from his throat. "Surprised to see me?" Yen, to her utmost credit, did not respond with anything more than a steely look. Ciri stepped forwards to crouch down in front of the sorceress, gripping her chin.

"Mother dear," she said, and her voice sounded like clear bells chiming on a windy night. The words did not fit Ciri's mouth. "Don't fight this. He had saved me. He will save you."

"He saved you from himself," Yen spat out, a bit of blood flying from her mouth. Geralt suspected injured teeth and bloodied gums. "He's using you, Ciri."

"Nonsense," Ciri cooed, still in that voice that was not her own, in words that sounded whimsical and rehearsed. She reached out a hand to press it flat against Yen's forehead, fingertips in her hair and palm brushing her nose. She recited a spell calmly, despite having no magical powers of which to speak, beyond her Elder Blood. Geralt didn't know what had happened to them, only that she had lost her touch with magic after passing through the portal in Tor Lara, the Tower of the Gull.

Yen's eyes glowed white, then her skin briefly turned translucent. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she swayed violently in her chair, threatening to topple it. Geralt lunged forwards, aiming to pry Ciri away, to wipe the smug look off of Vilgefortz's face, to free Yennefer. He instead found himself frozen in place, helpless and only able to watch.

Yen's screams rose to a crescendo.

♡

Geralt opened his eyes to find himself standing in front of the entrance to Stygga Castle. Beside him stood four, the fifth having remained behind in a fairytale duchy that boded ill. 

He led them into the castle, the Nilfgaardian who claimed he was not a Nilfgaardian beside him. The girl they had picked up, Angoulême, walked on his other side, sword in hand. The vampire and the archer hung back a couple of steps. The latter held her bow at the ready.

Geralt watched himself walk through the stone courtyard. Watched as he and his company made their way throughout the castle, at first together, then separately. 

Milva fell first. Geralt watched as if detached from his body. Perhaps he was. Yen had a point about the headband.

Then Cahir died, falling as he defended Ciri. Geralt kept walking, unable to stop as his body flowed past where she levelled her sword and charged at the bounty hunter who had taken her captive, murdered her friends, then abused her and tried to kill her. 

He was whisked away to a long hallway with a sorcerer standing in it. Vilgefortz held his staff. Geralt smelled lilac and gooseberries, and then Yennefer was standing beside him. He didn't know how, or when, or why. But she was there, and so he accepted that.

Geralt drew his own sword, only to be thrown aside. His head went fuzzy, sword falling from fingers struck numb by the impact. He managed a small groan. The world was hazy. He thought he saw Regis die, be thrown aside and crushed. The vampire did not rise.

He watched, the world a painful blur of colour and light thanks to his concussion. Geralt saw the battle play out from behind lidded eyes, struggling for consciousness.

Yen was weakened by both the dimeritium and time she had spent under torture. Geralt looked on with pride as she still gave it her all, making Vilgefortz pay for every last bit of pain he had caused her. The witcher twitched his limbs, searching for the strength to rise, but his body remained heavy and still.

The sorceress cast a spell that reflected off one of the walls, hurtling straight towards Vilgefortz. He deflected it with a simple gesture and let the magic fizzle out in the air. The sorcerer took a menacing step forwards, iron staff tapping against the floor. 

The fight went on.

Geralt lost consciousness.

When he again opened his eyes, head pounding and mouth dry, he knew at once that many hours had passed. Ciri stood over him, wounded. She looked herself again.

"Geralt," she said urgently, voice once again brash and her own. Not Vilgefortz's soft cooing on her tongue. Geralt fought to open his eyes.

When he finally did so, Ciri was gone. 

Yen fired off another spell, the strength required for it nearly dragging her body to the cold, unyielding stone floor. Vilgefortz dodged the blast easily, laughing cruelly all the while. He opened a portal, a second one sizzling into existence a couple of paces behind Yennefer. Geralt understood what was going to happen a mere moment later.

"Yen!" He tried to shout. His voice came out raw and pitiful, scraping his throat and causing him to choke. She did not seem to hear. It was as if he was watching the scene play out before him in slow motion.

Vilgefortz leapt through his first portal and exited the second, behind Yen. Magic came to his one hand, while he swung the staff with the other. Geralt could hear Yen's neck snap from twenty paces.

She collapsed to the ground, a thin, bloody heap that was oozing magic. Already, Geralt could sense that heat was leaving her body. She was dead.

Vilgefortz turned his mismatched eyes towards where Geralt lay defenseless. With cold, calculated steps, the sorcerer stalked over to him. His expression was patronising, but overall, cold, hard, and blank. Geralt was nothing more to him than a big to be squashed underfoot.

The iron staff began its dreadful song again. Somewhere within him, Geralt found the strength to curl his fingers around his sword and lift it. This grip was weak on the hilt. Vilgefortz held every advantage.

The sword was knocked aside with a twitch of the iron staff. Vilgefortz crouched down in front of him, lifting Geralt's chin with the end of the staff. The sorcerer tsked in disappointment. "I had expected more from the famous witcher." The staff had now begun applying pressure to Geralt's throat, making breathing a challenge and speaking impossible. Both were the goal of Vilgefortz.

"But I suppose the words of the bards are just that. Words. Idle charter of the rabble." A breath. Vilgefortz met Geralt's eyes with his own. The sorcerer standing death, the reek of it clinging more strongly to him than it did to the witcher. Then a sudden force was applied to the staff. It crushed Geralt's windpipe and a portion of his neck, and he no longer thought about much of anything.

♡

Despite being dead, Geralt was acutely aware that he was dead, and was therefore perhaps not actually so.

He couldn't feel anything. He had cause to doubt that he had become a ghost. Geralt had countless regrets, yes. A large city's worth of people, maybe more, had caused him harm over his long life. He had unfinished affairs to take care of before he died. But even so, he is a witcher. He will not become a creature his comrades have died fighting.

Dimly, Geralt was aware of Ciri being taken away. She was screaming. He could taste the salt of her tears on his tongue, could smell it on the air. He was dead, but he could not tell if he actually was. Vilgefortz said something. Ciri wrenched herself out of his grasp, kohl-lined eyes brimming with fury and despair.

"You murdered them!" Ciri shouted. "Get your hands off me!" She fell to her knees beside Geralt's cooling body, cradling the man that had been her mentor, her Destiny, her father. Tears fell onto the corpse.

A thin, cruel blade touched her throat, sliding around from behind her. Ciri's breath hitched, but she made no attempt to dislodge her own dagger from her throat. "Rejoice, for they'll never hear you cry," an equally thin, cruel voice said. Ciri did not know what he meant. She doubted she ever would. 

She felt her blood pulsing steadily out of the gash across her throat. She collapsed against the body of Geralt, who was watching her as if from afar.

"Ciri," he whispered, surprised to find his lips still worked at all.

♡

In Yennefer's dream, she sat in a meadow, her dearest husband beside her. She did not know where they were, only that this was not Velen. The sun shone strongly but pleasantly, and the grass was sweet and warm. There were no drowners this time.

She held Geralt's hand, watching the world around them. The trees were young and slender, bursting into bloom with healthy green leaves and plentiful flowers. The scent of pollen and nature reached her, filling her senses and swelling in the air.

"Yen," Geralt said. She turned her head to look at him only to find herself watching as black veins crawled across his skin, then constricted painfully. She saw emotions akin to panic and fear take him before he fell, falling through the darkness under them that hadn't been there a moment before.

She could still hear the birds. Among them was a swallow.

♡

Something kicked her in the shin, hard enough to bruise. No, someone. There was only one culprit present, only one person she shared a bed with anymore.

"Geralt," she hissed, not wanting to open her eyes just yet. She turned towards him, tossing an arm over his chest as he slept. Geralt twisted again, kneeing her this time. "Geralt." She said a little louder.

He mumbled something that sounded like "Ciri!" before tossing again. Yennefer reluctantly opened her eyes, adjusting slowly to the predawn darkness. She propped herself up on one hand and looked down at Geralt, tossing her hair over her shoulders as to keep it from obstructing her view.

Her husband was pale beneath her. A thin sheen of sweat clung to his skin, rendering him cold and clammy. Yennefer stroked her hand through his hair, gently turning his head back to face her. His breath was coming a little too quickly. A nightmare, then. She was more than familiar with Geralt's night terrors. She was not free of her own, either. 

Geralt, however, was difficult to wake and even more challenging to ground in reality afterwards when it came to Ciri. With dreams about anything else, Yennefer could shake him a couple of times and he would wake. He'd only be disoriented a couple of seconds, mind sorting out events as he adjusted to her and to wherever they were.

When their beloved daughter was at stake within his dream, Yennefer knew that precious little could wake him. She never enjoyed these nightmares on her end. How much worse was it for Geralt? 

Since they had started properly courting and had committed to one another, she had mostly stopped reading his mind. Of course, she still lingered in it telepathically when certain things were at stake, or when there were other sorcerers around. She trusted Geralt, not her brethren. Far be it from them to try not to steal him away from her. Monogamy was near impossible, given their style of life, but the two of them made an effort to stick with one another. Yennefer didn't need some sorceress seducing her husband and causing a rift between them.

With nightmares about Ciri, Yennefer knew that it was best for her to wait it out. Geralt would wake sooner or later. If she tried to disrupt his dreaming, she was wasting her time. Instead, she could keep him comfortable and be ready to listen when he awoke. In the years they had been together, Geralt's walls of ice had slowly melted. He still spoke less frequently than he could, but around her, at least he was open with his thoughts. Perhaps decades of her forever reading them was at the root of that.

Whatever the case was, it made life easier on both of them if they were honest and communicated. Geralt had worked out that he had an easier time convincing himself his nightmare was only a figment of his mind if he spoke it aloud to someone. He had said something about the events sounding ridiculous and falling flat when the dream was brought to light. Yennefer gladly accepted his request for help. 

She sat against the headboard, hand lingering in Geralt's hair. She wove it amongst the strands, stroking or lightly attaching occasionally. Her legs were out in front of her, straight and crossed at the ankles. Yennefer simply watched the world outside the window, waiting patiently for Geralt to wake.

Swallows were not in abundance in Velen, so Yennefer knew that she would not see the bird that her daughter was named after. If only Ciri could be with them now. But the girl had since finished her studies under Geralt's tutelage and now walked her own Path. Yennefer swelled with pride at the thought.

There may not have been swallows in Velen, but there was a plentiful amount of other bird species. Yennefer could name only a few of those that passed by her window as she waited for Geralt. Robins, mostly. Woodpeckers too, of several varieties. Small brown birds she did not know the names of, that puffed up their feathers and perched on their mates. 

Geralt thrashed again, though thankfully he did not hit her. His face pressed against her hip. A few more words were uttered in that same pained tone, one full of worry and anger. "Ciri! Regis! Yen! YEN!" He made a small, choked-off noise that didn't sound like it belonged in his throat. 

Yennefer wound her fingers firmly through her husband's hair. She was no bard, but she had learned to carry a time well enough. Geralt had told her many times before that her voice was pleasing to listen to. So she sang. It wasn't much, just an old lullaby she had learned in Vengerburg. In the distant past, she had sung it to Ciri when the girl had struggled with nightmares of her own. So alike were Yennefer's husband and daughter, without them even realising it.

It was another half hour before Geralt began to show signs of waking. They started out small, but Yennefer was intimately familiar with him and all of his quirks. She noticed when he began to breathe a little easier and a little more lightly. The stilling of his eyes beneath his lids was what ultimately convinced her that the dream had ended. 

♡

Geralt woke slowly and painfully, feeling as if his mind and limbs were swimming through honey. He felt sore and disoriented, and one of his feet ached a bit, telling him he had kicked out in his sleep. There was a sorceress asleep beside him, propped up against the headboard. Black hair that smelled faintly of lilac and gooseberries tickled his forehead.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking blearily in the dim light. It was before dawn, but the light from beneath the horizon was beginning to filter in around the curtains over the windows. Yen was a comfortable weight against him. Geralt directed his gaze to one of the windows, where the curtain was pushed aside and afforded a view into the woods. It wasn't all that pleasant a view.

Beside him, the sorceress stirred. She looked down, eyes following as he sat up to lean against the headboard beside her. Ciri's eyes and the cooing voice she had spoken in lingered in his mind. Yen's hand reached for his, winding their fingers together.

"It was a dream, Geralt," she said softly. "Nothing more." Quiet. 

Then, "We don't know that, Yen. I dreamed of Ciri. When this has happened before, it meant she was in danger. Cintra, the Wild Hunt-"

"Geralt. Please. We shall contact her and the members of the Lodge, of course, and see to it that she is safe. But we cannot act rashly." Her voice became warmer. "Besides, you know her. She can look after herself."

"Hm." He stretched out his legs, bumping against hers again. Yennefer made a sleepy sound of protest, then reached up to push the strands of white hair stuck on by sweat off his forehead. Her touch was cool and soft, but her hands were not without strength. Geralt felt rather as if his head was filled with cotton, but her touch made it feel a little less so. He closed his eyes again.

"Yen?" He voiced into the air after a couple more minutes had gone by. Sleep may be sinking its claws back into his wife, but though he felt lethargic, Geralt was wide awake. 

"Mm?"

"I'm going to speak now, voice the dream aloud." She pressed further against his side, head resting on his shoulder. Their hands, still entwined, rested between them atop the blankets.

"I'm listening." She closed her eyes again. Geralt took a couple of breaths, remembering in fragments and then in whole images. He watched the window and the woods outside, following a robin with his eyes as it took flight. When the chirping of the birds fell silent for a moment, he spoke, voice soft.

"We failed the attack on Stygga Castle. Details were a little different from reality, but that was what happened."

"We?"

"The Hansa and I. You and Ciri were present too." She made a soft sound that told him she had heard and encouraged him to go on.

"I was you, at first. You were strapped into a chair. Never seen the room before, but I knew at once it was where Vilgefortz had tortured you." Yennefer stilled beside him. Then she carefully reached out and stroked his wrist with her free hand. Geralt didn't know which of them the gesture was intended to comfort, but he appreciated it all the same.

"Then Ciri came into the room, Vilgefortz beside her. She spoke, and Yen, her voice- her words-" he stopped, choking up. Yen didn't say anything, just continued the slow, soothing motions on his wrist.

"She wasn't herself," the sorceress guessed. "Don't look so shocked. I could surmise as much." Geralt continued.

"I don't recall what happened next, if anything did. I know that you screamed. I was powerless to do anything but watch.

"Then it was a couple of hours later. We fought Vilgefortz." Geralt fell quiet, lost in thought. The sorceress did not interrupt him, for she was lost in her own. That day in Stygga Castle had determined much of their lives. While not the prominent event, it had shaped them over the course of the years since. 

Yennefer knew that Geralt was still haunted by the deaths of those he had brought along with him. Ciri still remembered the look on Leo Bohart's face as she killed him, flipping off a beam as if she had been back in Kaer Morhen. Yennefer herself could not shake the memories of Vilgefortz's soft, slimy voice curling through her ears, the torture she had withstood, the fear that had cut through her as she saw Geralt be tossed aside like a rag doll.

Geralt rubbed his leg. It had been shattered back on Thaneed and though the dryads had healed it, and healed it well, there were times when the pain returned. No longer with the cold and the rain, but moments like this one, after nightmares. Sometimes when he felt defeated, too, and the universe decided to laugh at him once more by causing him pain and stiffness.

"You died," he said softly. He could feel Yen's eyes on her again. She made another of those quiet, encouraging sounds. "Vilgefortz threw me into the column."

"I remember."

"Mm. I was powerless. You fought him well but were weakened. All he needed was to portal in behind you." Another moment of quiet as both the witcher and the sorceress reflected on that, remembering what had happened outside of the dream.

"Did it end there?"

"No. I wish it had, Yen."

"Why?" The question was not harsh, merely curious.

"Because I died too, next. They say you can't die in a dream, that your mind will wake you up before you can. But I did. I must have. 

"But whether I died or not, I was watching when Ciri was killed as well. Vilgefortz whispered something to her before he did so. I didn't hear." He had known what had been said, but he neither had heard it nor did he remember it now.

Yennefer stayed beside him for some time. Then her hand stilled on his wrist. Geralt tore his eyes away from the window to look at her. She kissed him, gently and thoroughly. 

"Go back to sleep, Geralt. No more dreams."

♡

When Geralt next awoke, dawn had come and gone. The sun was rising towards its zenith. Yen was still asleep beside him. They had turned towards each other at some point, for now Geralt had the sorceress pulled against his chest, her head tucked under his. He could feel her breath on his throat and the side of his neck.

He opened his eyes, content to leave them unfocused. The world was blurred and hazy, but his mind was still warm from sleep and so it was a comfortable haze. Geralt was warm in general, now that he thought about it. He ran hotter than most, and with his body heat and Yen's trapped beneath the blankets, it was beginning to get uncomfortable. He thought about moving, about gently pushing her away and tossing the blankets off, and dismissed the idea almost as soon as he had it. He wouldn't trade anything in the world for this moment here, except possibly for Ciri, the light of his life and his daughter.

Geralt settled instead for slowly stroking Yen's hair, closing his eyes again. Even without her perfume recently applied, he could still smell lilac and gooseberries clinging to her skin and their sheets. It suited her.

"Why did you stay?" He finally whispered aloud, not intent on getting an answer. In fact, as far as he could tell, Yen was still asleep. "You didn't need to." 

"I did," she replied softly. Geralt gave a tiny shake of his head, startled but not surprised.

"It was just a nightmare, Yen." His voice was tinged with grief and regret, both for the events he had dreamt of and for waking her twice now. "One that evoked painful memories in you as well." They were quiet for a minute.

"So why did you stay?" Yen ducked her head out from under his. She pulled back enough to see his expression, never leaving his arms. Geralt studied her in return, waiting for her to speak if she intended to.

"Because I love you," she said simply, "and you needed my support." One of her hands found its way to Geralt's cheek. He could not formulate an appropriate response fast enough, mind overwhelmed as it was. He knew she loved him. He knew she accommodated for him and worked around him and sometimes with him, and he knew that he did the same for her. Theirs was an old, old dance.

Geralt did not speak, watching instead the wall over Yen's shoulder. He heard her small huff of amusement, then there were lips pressing gently against his own. He took a moment to reciprocate. She kicked the blankets off of them, towards the end of the bed, then swung one leg over him. There was nothing sexual about it: she was simply getting to an easier angle. Geralt held onto her waist, though he knew he didn't have to.

It was easy to stay there, to close his eyes and hold Yen close. To allow that moment to stretch out for eternity, for the sweetness they shared to last until the ends of their long lives.

But like all moments, this one too had to come to an end. Just not yet.

"Stay," Yen whispered. Geralt opened his eyes from where she was curled up against his side, exchanging lazy kisses and caresses from time to time as they studied the birds outside the window. "I can feel you going to that place in your head again, the one where all you ever do is reflect and then grow mournful and over aware." She squeezed his hand and he knew that she did not mean the words as an admonishment. "Stay here, with me."

"I will."

"Good." A short pause. The following, "Thank you, Geralt," was slightly shaky. Geralt pretended not to have noticed, in order to spare Yen's pride, but he knew how much his two words had meant to her. It went beyond not getting distracted by his thoughts as they sat together in bed. He wasn't going to leave her side in this wasteland, nor would he ever for good. Not until the day death took him from her. Perhaps, Geralt mused, he would be the first witcher to die in his bed. Yes, that sounded good.

♡

"Geralt?"

"Hm?"

"I need to get up."

♡

"Geralt."

"Hm?"

"I need to get up. I have a meeting with Philippa and Rita in two hours. I'll ask about Ciri, but I must prepare." Geralt sleepily pulled her closer, not wanting her to leave him and the warm cocoon they were in yet. Yennefer gave a fondly exasperated sigh and let him, kissing his forehead.

"I won't be long, my dear."

"You say that every time," he murmured, voice gravelly with sleep.

"Yes, I know. But this is important."

"Mm." He closed his eyes again, then nosed into her hair and stayed there. Geralt had no intentions of going anywhere just yet. Yen could leave if she needed, but he didn't want to let go. That would mean admitting that their lazy morning-

"Geralt, it's the afternoon. We cannot sit in bed all day, lovely as that sounds"-

was truly over.

"Mm."

"Geralt." A little sterner now.

"Come back to bed. Please." He was not above begging, sometimes, not when it came to her. She had already seen his highs and lows, and he had seen hers. He knew they would both forgive him for the words and tone, if there was anything to forgive in the first place.

"Geralt," she said, a gentle and amused admonishment. "I've not even sat up yet." He tilted his head up, and she graced him with a kiss, but only for a moment.

He gave a deep sigh and opened his arms. "Should probably get up, too."

"Yes, you should," the sorceress responded, tone warm and fond. Yen rolled away from him, climbing to her feet on the other side of the bed. Geralt heard her donning her robe again, covering her as best the thin fabric could. Light footsteps walked around to his side of the bed.

"Don't stay in bed too long," Yen teased. She kissed his temple again, then as he rolled over to face her, his lips. Then she was gone, steps whisking her away briskly. Geralt was left with only the faint trace of lilac and gooseberries that was hanging in the air.

Geralt gave a quiet groan. But without Yen beside him and with the blankets at the foot of the bed, the fabric was rapidly growing colder. He supposed it really was time to get up. By his reckoning, it was over an hour past noon. Sheesh, when had he last slept in that long? Possibly never, aside from that one time he and Yen didn't leave the bed the entire day…

He knocked aside what blankets and sheets were still over his shins and got slowly to his feet, left leg tensing before it held his weight. He briefly remembered the dream, then when his leg was grievously wounded around the time of the events on Thaneed. Then the memories faded, or perhaps were pushed away.

He walked down the stairs and into the washroom, where Yen was standing, applying her makeup as she did most mornings. Geralt walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and dropped a kiss on her shoulder in greeting. His eyes met hers in the mirror. Today was going to be a new day, a new dawn. 

Yes, today was going to be a pleasant one.


End file.
